Born to Magic: Tales of Nevaeh: Volume I Page 12

  “Why did you ask?”

  The smile remained on her face as she shrugged. “I was curious. I have never seen a kraal do anything but run from a snuck.”

  Mikaal’s brows knit together for a moment. He glanced at Charka and then said, “Come to think of it, you’re right. Do you believe it’s important—his attacking the snuck?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps,” she shrugged, unwilling to say further until she was certain about what she was beginning to sense.

  There would be time to confirm, she thought. Ample time.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE MORNING PASSED quickly on the ride toward Troit, Morvene’s capital. The day was cloudless, the air warm with just enough breeze to keep it comfortable. Areenna was heavily occupied with thoughts of the morning’s snuck attack and on what other surprises would await them.

  Sending a questioning thought to Gaalrie, she closed her eyes and waited. A moment later she viewed the way ahead as clearly as if it were she who was flying. All was clear. They had decided not to ride the main highway, but to cut through the countryside using her aoutem as their guide and scout.

  The benefit of traveling this way gave them the ability to avoid people and to cut the distance to Troit by almost half. If everything went right, they would be near the capital of Morvene by nightfall, and not spend another day on the road.

  When Mikaal turned to her and said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry and need to walk and stretch,” the low timbre of his voice broke through her reveries.

  A glance at the sun told Areenna the morning had fled and it was a little past the midday hour. She smiled. “Good idea.” She closed her eyes and made contact with Gaalrie. “There’s a stream a few minutes ahead.”

  Guiding her kraal toward their left, she led them to the bank of a creek. She dismounted Hero and walked with him to the bubbling stream, where the kraal lowered its head and began lapping water. Areenna knelt at his side, and used her hand to drink.

  Behind her, Mikaal watched the woman and the kraal. He was still trying to understand his own powers, but found himself admiring Areenna for her ability not to merely adapt to what she was doing, but to become enmeshed within it.

  He released Charka’s reigns and when the kraal ambled next to Hero and dipped his head into the stream Mikaal went to his side and drank his fill. He wiped his mouth with a slide of his sleeve and turned to Areenna who was unrolling some of the meat they had saved from last night’s meal.

  They shared the meat, standing because neither wanted to sit after riding for five hours, and Areenna said, “If all goes well, we will be there by dark. I’ll need to send Gaalrie to Queen Layra and let her know. Should we do this now, or wait until we are closer?”

  “Does she know we are coming?”

  “I’m sure your mother sent a message to her, but with what is happening…”

  “Then now would be best. It gives her time to make the arrangements. Can you still lead us there this way?”

  “Agreed, and yes, I will still see the land as Gaalrie flies.” She looked at Hero and a moment later the kraal came to her. She took a small white cloth from her bag and smoothed it onto her opened left hand. She aimed her index finger at the cloth and began to make writing motions. When she was finished, Mikaal saw her read the words that appeared on the cloth and then watched them slowly fade away.

  Areenna rolled the cloth into a small, tight scroll, called Gaalrie to her and tied the message to the bird’s leg with a strand of thread. With a quick lift, she sent Gaalrie on her way.

  “How did you do that?” Mikaal asked, still looking at her hand.

  “Write? Hide the words?”

  “Both.”

  Areenna shrugged. “I never thought about it. My mother showed me and I did it.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Not quite. It took practice, as does everything about our science.”

  He frowned. “Science? I don’t understand.”

  Areenna looked at him for several seconds. His words brought her back to the Hall of the Tale and to Master Thrumweld’s question, what is magic? “It is hard, I know, for men to understand that what we call magic is but a form of science.”

  Mikaal’s furrowed brow was the response she expected and she smiled gently at him. “Science is more than creating things; it is using the powers of your mind. I don’t know why men and women differ so much in this aspect, but it seems men have a hard time understanding how a woman’s mind can create what everyone calls magic.”

  “My father once told me women’s magic is called metaphysics, which he said was not well understood where he came from.”

  Areenna let the word roll around the confines of her mind before saying. “I like the sound of it…metaphysics. It sounds right.”

  “Okay, teach me how to write.”

  She laughed, then sighed. “I don’t know if I can truly teach you. I can show you, but you have to work it out.”

  “Show me,” he said, defiantly popping the last piece of cold rabt into his mouth.

  Areenna walked over to a rock, wiped a few grains of dirt from it, and placed her hand four inches above the stone. “Think of the message and move it from your mind to your fingertip and from your fingertip to the rock like so.”

  Seconds later, Mikaal’s name appeared on the face of the rock.

  Mikaal stared at the rock for a full minute before stepping next to Areenna and then, kneeling, placed his forefinger the correct distance away. He thought of a word and began to write. Nothing happened.

  Taking a deep breath, he reformed a word and pushed it toward the rock, moving his finger as if it were a writing feather. His face turned red and droplets of sweat popped onto his forehead as he worked his mind as hard as he had ever worked his muscles.

  Finally, he exhaled a frustrated held breath and stood up. “Impossible!”

  Areenna touched his hand. “Not impossible, just hard. Remember, you have two disadvantages. You are a man and you are years behind in your training. I learned this as a child.”

  “None of that matters. I still have to learn,” he said.

  Areenna looked at the sky. Not a half hour had passed since they’d started working. They could afford a little more time. “My turn.” Pulling her short sword from its scabbard on the kraal, she said, “Work with me for a while.”

  Mikaal offered a lopsided smile. “With that little sticker?”

  “Little sticker?” With the two words dripping with sarcasm, she raised her short sword and charged him.

  Mikaal reacted instantly and reached for his sword, which was not at his side but hanging on Charka’s saddle. He went into a crouch and, when Areenna reached him, rolled forward, snapped onto his feet and raced to the kraal, Areenna running behind him.

  Charka turned and moved toward him as if the kraal knew what was needed. Reaching Charka, he grabbed his sword, spun and raised it an instant before hers descended on him. The sound of metal on metal was loud in the silent forest. The force of her blow surprised him almost as much as her attack. It was as if the blow had come from a bigger man than he, not a slender girl.

  “Little sticker is it?” She whirled and swung again, her blade whistling through the air.

  Mikaal parried and, feeling the full force of her blow realized what she was doing. “No magic!”

  Areenna paused, the sword half raised. “You’re stronger than I am.”

  “It makes no difference. No magic!”

  She nodded, and pushed forward against him in a wild charge. He cleared his mind of all thoughts other than those needed to protect himself and began to fight earnestly. It took only a few seconds to penetrate her weak defense, flick the sword from her hand and rest the tip of his blade at her throat. “Yield.”

  Trembling with anger for allowing herself to be disarmed so quickly, she whispered through clenched teeth, “I yield.”

  They lowered their swords and he smiled at her. “I did not expect so much strength,” he adm
itted.

  “But you still outfought me, which is why I need to use my powers.”

  “It was not because you’re a woman, you just haven’t been trained properly.”

  “But with my powers I can do what is necessary.”

  “You are thinking like a…child. Think like a…” He smiled, recalling her words of moments before, “like a man. And think as well of how much more you can do if you’re trained properly.”

  Abashed and surprised by his wisdom, she nodded. “Then do so!”

  “As you ask, Princess,” he said and raised his sword high. “Lesson one, defense. Lift your blade perpendicular to my sword. When my blade descends, twist your wrist slightly, lowering the far edge of your blade. Watch the effect,” he added as he started his downward swing. When their blades met, his slid from hers and dipped almost to the ground.

  “Hold!” he shouted. She froze. “Look closely. If you drop your arms when the attacking blade leaves yours, turn to the right and lunge, your foe is defeated.”

  Areenna pictured each movement he had explained and when she was done, looked at him. “Ready,” she said.

  They took their positions. At her nod, Mikaal attacked again. Areenna tilted the blade the instant before his sword touched it. The screech of metal scraping along metal echoed sharply, but as his blade left hers, she straightened her wrists, turned to her right and lunged. The rising tip of her blade stopped the instant it touched the fabric over his heart.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Again!” and, lifting his sword, he charged at her. But this time instead of allowing her to turn and thrust when his sword touched hers, he twisted beneath both blades, kicked out his right foot and hooked her leg. A half a heartbeat later, Mikaal offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Overconfidence will kill you,” he said. “When you are on the field, you fight man after man. When a soldier…a true warrior sees how you defend yourself, he learns and will find another way to defeat you.”

  “And you have more ways?” Areenna challenged.

  “Do you want to find out?” he asked with a half-smile, half-sneer.

  Areenna set herself, dug her feet into the ground and said, “Do your best.”

  He smiled openly now and gripped his longsword with both hands, did a figure eight in the air and smiled openly. “As you command, Princess—defend yourself”

  He charged forward, his sword only half raised. When she blocked him, he spun and lunged and the next thing he knew he was laying on the ground. “What the…”

  And then he saw the aura surrounding her like a low hanging mist. Soft shades of violet faded into a silvery hue. The mist not only covered her body, but extended to her sword as well.

  “I said no magic.”

  “That was before. You said defend yourself. I did.”

  Mikaal stood, dusting himself off. When he spoke, it was with low, slowly paced words that strangely echoed what his father had told him years ago. “When you are fighting for your life, when you have two or three or even four men attacking you, there is no time for thinking, at that point you must fight instinctively or you will die.”

  “And what makes you think that my powers aren’t instinctive?”

  “You did. Science you said. You have to concentrate to use your power. But when you are battling those who want your blood you can’t afford to think, only react. Your concentration must be on your attacker. Waiver for an instant and you die. So, Areenna, if you are going to use a sword, you had dammed well better be fully trained so you can use it instinctively and free your mind to watch what’s happening around you and prepare for the next attack. Listen to me, Princess, you’re training me to use the powers I have, please let me train you to use your body to protect you as well.”

  Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, Areenna nodded slowly. “You’re right. No games. I will not use magic.”

  “Good. Now, let’s try that again.”

  CHAPTER 12

  SWEAT DRIPPED FROM Mikaal’s brow. Charka’s reigns hung limply while he struggled to make his words appear on the small cloth he was using for practice.

  It was late afternoon and the sun was more than halfway to the edge of the western horizon when Areenna said, “Gaalrie is back.”

  When the treygone landed on Areenna’s arm, which almost folded under the bird’s weight, she removed the tied message from its leg and sent Gaalrie aloft again. She read the message and handed it to Mikaal.

  ‘Areenna, my husband, the King, has been taken by fever. I must tend him and cannot leave today. Make camp where you can tonight. Upon reaching the outskirts of Troit tomorrow, travel northeast along the Covenant Highway. Cloak yourselves to be simple travelers. No one must know who you are. When you reach Handlebridge Lake, turn east and follow the lake road for two miles. There you will see the sign I will leave. Follow the path to the homestead. I will join you as soon as I can. There is a housekeeper, she will expect you.’

  Layra

  When he finished reading, a map slowly replaced the words written on the cloth. The map showed the lay of the land and the homestead. He handed the cloth to Areenna, the writing gone and the cloth again only a cloth. “So we are delayed.”

  “It is not so bad. We had planned on two nights.”

  Mikaal shrugged. “She does this without our giving her any sort of explanation?”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “If I sent a message to a king to meet me outside his castle for something unnamed, he would not come.”

  “Or he might. But that is not the way of women. Mikaal, the differences between men and women are enormous, which is why it is difficult for you to understand and master your powers. We—women I mean—have learned over the centuries that with our abilities comes certain responsibilities and trusts. No trained woman of power has betrayed another woman since earliest memory.”

  When Mikaal started to object, Areenna couldn’t help smiling. “I’m not talking about love or lust or whatever label you use, I am talking about magic, about our abilities.” She paused, her features turning serious. “Every woman with strong abilities knows, should she betray any of us to them—man, woman, child—our race will end.”

  “Isn’t that overly dramatic?”

  She stared at him, repeating his words silently within her head. “What is it Mikaal? What are you afraid of? Is it so fearful a thing to consider women can trust so openly?”

  He shook his head. “It is not what I expected,” he admitted.

  “It is a fact that I was taught by my mother and by yours as well. And as far as this being a delay…I see no problem, in fact, it will be good for I can work with you on your powers and you can do the same for my sword work.”

  “Is that what you call it?” he asked with a wink.

  <><><>

  Five miles outside of Troit, a half mile before the forest thinned into sparse woodlands, they found a place to rest for the night. With the sun a half hour above the horizon, Mikaal strung Areenna’s bow and, before she could stop him, walked into the deeper woods.

  He needed time alone, and hunting was the only way to ensure he would have it. The afternoon’s ride troubled him. He’d always known he was different from other men; he’d learned so as a boy and had learned how to hide his differences by overdoing. He was the best at everything he tried his hand at. By pushing himself to do more, he gained the respect of others, not because he was the son of Roth, but because he accomplished whatever he’d set his mind on.

  But magic. Somehow, magic did not respond in the same way everything else in his life had. Why? He was deeply troubled because he had no control over whatever abilities he possessed. It was something he had never before experienced.

  He went into the thicker woods, keeping close attention to everything round him. There was a wealth of wildlife in the forest, yet he would not bring down a large animal for just the two of them.

  Ten minutes later, he broke through the trees to a small clearing, froze and went
down on one knee. From across the clearing came the low call of a crave. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound until he was able to hone directly on it.

  Opening his eyes, he spotted the black speckled gray, white, and orange bird sitting on a low hanging branch not thirty feet away. The bird was preening itself, its elongated head reaching around to a short, fat fantail, separating the ginger tipped feathers, wings folded flat against its plump body.

  Mikaal slid an arrow from his quiver, slotted it, and drew back on the bow. When he had the crave sighted, he took in a deep breath, exhaled softly, and released the arrow.

  The perfectly turned missile spun toward the bird and, a heartbeat before it struck, the crave turned and spotted Mikaal. Then the arrow pierced its chest and the bird dropped to the ground.

  <><><>

  Areenna sat cross-legged by the fire while the bird cooked slowly on a spit made of branches. Mikaal was behind her in the lean-to, once again working on the cloth.

  She turned the spit a half turn then settled back and thought about queen Layra’s message. A troubled feeling had been growing within her since receiving the message from Morvene’s Queen. Something about the King’s sudden fever bothered her. Was it too convenient?

  Ever since she and her father had arrived in Tolemac, everything surrounding her had felt as though there was some dark force closing in. Perhaps my mind is playing tricks. Not for the first time did she find herself wishing she was older and wiser than her eighteen years.

  “Damn it!” The shout tore her from her thought. Opening her eyes even as she stood, she spun in the direction of the shout and found Mikaal holding the cloth in a clenched fist. “This is pointless,” he snapped, tossing the cloth to the ground.

  She watched him, accurately gauging the anger on his face. “So simple a task, so hard for a weak mind.”

  He whirled on her, crimson flushing his skin. His anger whipped toward her in waves so powerful she was almost knocked off her feet. She stood her ground, fighting against the mental waves he did not know he was driving at her. She stood fast, waiting for him to back off. Rage flared in his eyes and she saw something behind it—something not Mikaal.